


Tempted by the Dark Side

by Hello_Spikey



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Demons, Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-01
Updated: 2010-07-01
Packaged: 2019-10-27 09:13:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17763980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hello_Spikey/pseuds/Hello_Spikey
Summary: Spike's in trouble, and Andrew's sent to rescue him.





	Tempted by the Dark Side

**Author's Note:**

  * For [edenskye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/edenskye/gifts).



> This is for edenskye who asked for: some dark possibly angsty Spike and Andrew smut. hehehe  
> The darker the better. 
> 
> Well, I kept trying to dark it up, but I guess I think of Andrew as too sweet to be very dark, and me, I like my Spike all hurt and vulnerable. (Sorry, Spike.)
> 
> So... here you go. It's a bit odd. Set post "Damage" in AtS season 5, though it opens with a wee BtVS season 7 scene.
> 
> Not worksafe for language and the porny bits.

Spike was sitting on his cot in the basement, one knee propped up, a cigarette dangling between his fingers. He was looking down at something in the other hand, a slight smile on his face.  
  
Whatever he was looking at and the smile both disappeared as Andrew trotted down the last few stairs. He stopped, feeling awkward in that too-direct gaze.  
  
“Well?” Spike asked, not moving from his lounging position. He took a drag on the cigarette. This was not how Andrew had pictured the scene. Spike didn’t look a bit like the tortured hero on the eve of battle.  
  
Andrew took a few awkward steps forward. “You know that part near the end of  _The Last Starfighter_  when Centauri says to Alex…”  
  
“No, thank fuck, I don’t.” Spike flicked ash toward the floor. “Can you just state your business like a normal human being and not bring any movie, television, or comic book character into it?”  
  
Andrew felt bereft. He could always express himself better with other people’s words. The silence started to stretch. Spike flicked more ash and looked away from him.  
  
With those sparkling blue orbs directed elsewhere, Andrew had the courage to blurt, “You didn’t have to do my video.”  
  
Spike raised an eyebrow and smiled a little bit.  
  
“I mean, you did, and you didn’t have to. You didn’t even punch me or call me ‘nerd boy’ or anything. You respected the project. So… thanks.”  
  
That was a smile – a real, genuine smile. “Sure. Don’t mention it. Ever.”  
  
Andrew hurried forward and sat down next to Spike. The cot squeaked and bounced in protest to the sudden movement, and Spike was giving him a slightly disgusted look, so he plunged forward, “I’m probably going to die tomorrow. I mean, not even probably. I have no super-powers. I used to get picked on by perfectly normal teenagers. Girls, even. Younger girls.”  
  
Spike shifted a little to face him, and his face was softer. “None of us knows if we’ll make it. That’s just the way it is.”  
  
“You and Buffy and super-powered people don’t know. Me… I kinda know. And before I die…”  
  
“Listen,” Spike put his hand on Andrew’s shoulder. Andrew thrummed at the contact, at the earnest gaze meeting his own. “You can’t think like that, or you’ll make it happen, all right?”  
  
Andrew threw himself forward, lips landing somewhat to the left of where he intended, and threw his arms around Spike’s neck. For a shining second, he felt the cool skin, softer and more normal that he’d thought it would be, those soft lips compressing under his own…  
  
And then Spike dumped him on the floor. It happened so fast Andrew was only aware of being on the floor, then of being out of breath. Spike stood over him, arms at his sides. “No,” Spike said. “You’re all right, for a geek. I might even see a little – a very little – of myself in you, but no. You don’t get to do that. Are we clear?”  
  
Andrew’s butt was sore, and the basement floor was cold. He felt the tightness in his throat that was sure to erupt into unmanly sobs if he didn’t hold it in. He nodded, and sort of crab-walked backwards, scrambling to his feet and running for it when he reached the stairs.  
  
It wasn’t the best of last nights on earth. He washed his face and went downstairs, where some people were getting a D&D game together. Somehow he kept his humiliation to himself.  
  
No one was more surprised than Andrew that he survived the fight, after all. And he mourned Spike keenly, surrounded by people who no doubt thought themselves closer to the vampire. He played over and over his last moments with Spike, how embarrassing, how humiliating, how final.  
  
***  
  
“Andrew?” Giles poked his head into the long, narrow office Andrew shared with two other watchers-in-training.  
  
Andrew quickly closed the book he was reading and shoved it under the desk. “Yes, supreme commander, sir?”  
  
Giles rolled his eyes. “You can go ahead and lay Waterson’s ‘Paranormal Sexualtiy’ on the desk, Andrew; I know you checked it out and you’ll crack the binding hiding it like that.”  
  
As Andrew sheepishly got out a bookmark and put the book properly away, Giles muttered, “If only the more relevant texts were checked out half so often. Pack your things; we need you in Italy again.”  
  
Andrew was already out of his chair, grabbing his very cool and watcherly leather briefcase. “Is a slayer in trouble? Is it the Immortal?”  
  
“Oddly enough, it’s Spike.”  
  
Andrew froze, halfway into his coat. Misinterpreting the shock, Giles placed one hand on Andrew’s shoulder. “It appears he survived the hellmouth. I just received a call from Angel. The little bastard has been alive for over a year, now!”  
  
Andrew swallowed, forced himself to take a breath, and reminded himself that it probably wouldn’t be good to reveal to his superior that he’d been keeping a secret like this from him for months.  
  
As if reading his mind, Giles frowned. “I wonder you didn’t run into him when you retrieved Dana.”  
  
“Wow. So… he’s back! And in Italy. In trouble?”  
  
“It would appear so. Angel said he went to meet with a client, offended him somehow and has been captured. Angel can do nothing officially due to the interests of his dubious law firm.” Giles scowled. “And he wonders why we don’t trust him anymore.”  
  
Andrew was beaming. “You want me to go rescue Spike?”  
  
“Lord help us, you’re the only watcher free who speaks Italian. Take Marta with you, or Veronica if she’s available. I think we might have sent her to Egypt.”  
  
“We’re on it!” Andrew slipped his coat the rest of the way on.  
  
“Yes, just go. I’ve emailed you the specifics. I don’t need to remind you that I have a particular interest in seeing Spike safely returned. We owe Spike that much. But not to Angel. You understand? I agreed to do this for Angel because I’ll be damned if another soldier for the light ends up in Wolfram and Hart. You are to go to Italy, find Spike, and bring him back  _here_. Do you understand?”  
  
Andrew turned and saluted, his chest swelling with emotion. Giles sighed and waved him on.  
  
***  
  
It was even better than he had hoped.  
  
The Gencarelli Conglomerate, a loose federation of demon-owned businesses, had indeed captured Spike, and Giacomo Gencarelli himself was holding the vampire at his private estate outside of Palermo.  
  
Holding Spike in chains, and not much else. It was all Andrew could to not to stare – okay, not to stare constantly. He tried to face Mr. Gencarelli when he spoke, and answer promptly and politely.  
  
The cage was built into the wall of Gencarelli’s office, an alcove of dark wood paneling like the rest of the room separated by a screen of ornately worked iron. Spike’s pale skin stood out starkly against the wood and iron. He was tightly chained at the back of the alcove and tastefully lit with recessed lamps like a work of art. Light raked his muscles beautifully, his arms were twisted behind him in a way that was probably uncomfortable, what with him being pressed up against the wall. Iron bands cut sharp contrast across his throat, his biceps, his ankles.  
  
He wore a little blue velour loincloth which Andrew was sure must have been put on after he was securely bound.  
  
Veronica was staring, too.  
  
“But Mr. Wells, if Angel wants his beautiful boyfriend back, why does he not come for him, himself? I am a reasonable man, willing to do business.”  
  
“We aren’t here on Angel’s behalf. And, uh… do you really think Angel and Spike are boyfriends?”  
  
Spike snorted. Gencarelli casually pressed a button on his desk. A light flickered, and Spike stiffened in his bonds, making only a small grunt of pain. “It is not the most cooperative of artworks,” Gencarelli said. “I suppose I could let you have it for twenty million.”  
  
Andrew had been watching the motion of Spike’s throat as he clenched his jaw against the pain. He blinked and turned back to Gencarelli. “Twe… twenty mah…” He closed his mouth and looked helplessly at Veronica.  
  
“We don’t have that kind of money, mister,” Veronica said. “But we’re prepared to use force if you don’t cooperate. Spike belongs to us.”  
  
Her voice was high, even for a girl, but the way she subtly moved to put one foot forward, almost into a fighting stance, spoke for itself.  
  
Gencarelli laughed. “Yes, of course we are familiar with the slayers. You are not so organized right now – short on office staff it seems, but you will be formidable soon. Perhaps I want to be on your side. Perhaps I don’t want you to become so formidable. You see my position is a complex one.”  
  
“Ours isn’t. We want our guy back, that’s all.”  
  
Gencarelli looked from Veronica to Andrew, obviously calculating something. He nodded, slowly, and pointed at Andrew. “I wish to speak to you alone. The slayer may wait in the hall. My servants have brought refreshments.”  
  
Veronica began to protest, but Andrew gave her a small shake of the head and nodded toward the door. She gave him a glare loaded with “you’d better know what you’re doing” and strutted out with full slayerly power in every step.  
  
Gencarelli walked over to Spike’s cage. He rested his hand on a curlicue of iron. “You want him,” he said. It didn’t sound like a question.  
  
“He’s a great warrior for our cause.”  
  
“Yes, but that is not why you want him. Admit it. He is beautiful. That is why I had him mounted on my wall, where I could admire him.” He grinned with gleeful malice, meetings Spike’s impotent glare. “Admire his silence.”  
  
“Yes, I want him.” The words barely came out above a whisper, riding a cloud of guilt and humiliation. But Andrew knew you had to give men like this the lead they wanted before they would tell you their demands.  
  
Gencarelli smiled at him kindly. “I could tell. Perhaps you have always wanted and could not have? You see it all the time. I may be wealthy and powerful now, but once I was just like you.” He put his hand on Andrew’s shoulder. It was thick and heavy, the slightly scaled skin catching on the wool fibers. “And I could use a friend in your organization.”  
  
Andrew’s mouth was completely dry. The dark side was trying to seduce him! Again! Could he fake it? Could he string the evil demon businessman along until Spike was free? But at what cost to his soul?  
  
“Wolfram and Hart, they sent me this lovely creature. They are often sending lovely creatures, and they are usually so accommodating, but this one, he spurned my advances. And I am a handsome man! He called me ‘tubby’, can you believe that?”  
  
Andrew could believe that. The demon was solidly on the round side of the geometric continuum. He knew better than to say anything, so he just made a vague sort of noise.  
  
The heavy fingers squeezed. “I will give him to you. My treat.”  
  
“Uh… great. Thanks. Can we go now?”  
  
Gencarelli laughed. “Not like that, silly boy. I am giving him to you for tonight. You will be my guest. And, whenever you visit, you may enjoy him again.”  
  
“Oh… uh… oh!” Andrew glanced up at Spike, whose eyes were very expressive. They were expressing insults. He quickly looked away, told his libido to get a grip, and tried to think. “Tonight. Uh… so, like, you have guest rooms?”  
  
“Ha ha. Relax.” Gencarelli propelled him toward the door. “You will have dinner with me, and the servants will show you to your rooms. How would you like him delivered, eh? As he is now, or perhaps with more freedom of movement?”  
  
“Completely unbound?” Andrew winced, expecting to be shot down.  
  
“If that is how you want him, that is how it will be! This time, eh?” And he patted Andrew on the back, opening the door to the hall.  
  
Veronica was standing, arms crossed, clearly impatient for an explanation. Andrew shrugged. “We’re spending the night, apparently.”  
  
It was a tense supper. Veronica wouldn’t stop whispering things like, “Just offer him a freaking treaty or something and lets get out of here!”  
  
Like a palatial estate in Italy was such a terrible place to be! The food was gorgeous. But he couldn’t eat a bite. His stomach was in knots, anticipating, fearing, hoping.  
  
They were led upstairs after the meal and an interminable coffee hour. Andrew peered down the wide hallway lined with identical white doors, wondering which would be his. Which would hold Spike behind it?  
  
Anticipation was eating him alive, but at last they stood before a specific door, and it was opening. He ran into the room, too excited to see, at first.  
  
But there was Spike, standing opposite the door, arms crossed, feet spread, and an expression that cancelled any vulnerability his skimpy slave outfit might have engendered. Andrew stopped as though he’d hit an invisible wall.  
  
Behind him, the door closed.  
  
“Right, here’s the situation.” Spike stepped up close to Andrew, who shivered at the proximity. Bare, hard, muscular flesh! Spike slapped his cheek lightly. “Tubby might be watching – he’s a right old pervert. First thing we have to do is get this sodding collar off. I think that’s where the mojo is that keeps me from being able to go outside. Tell me if you can see any sort of locking mechanism on the back. Feels perfectly fucking smooth.”  
  
And Spike leaned closer, tilting his head over Andrew’s shoulder, exposing his neck. Andrew could almost not breathe, but he dutifully leaned over to look at Spike’s beautiful, stretched nape. The collar lifted a little from the skin there, casting a thin shadow. Around the knob of the top-most vertebrae below the collar was an intricate tattoo ring, mostly black with thin lines of blue around the edge and filling the inside. Andrew breathed and saw the tiny hairs flex and prickle. He licked his lips.  
  
“Damn it, Andrew, I’m not standing like this all night.”  
  
How did his mouth get full of drool? Andrew swallowed. “There’s, uh, a tattoo. It looks kind of like a gear, but lacy… really steam-punk. There’s nothing I can see on the collar.”  
  
Spike gripped his shoulders and swore. “Bloody magic. Try… try touching it.”  
  
Andrew’s head was buzzing with thoughts of touching all the skin so close to his. He bit his lip and carefully moved his hand around Spike’s arm, hovering a moment before quickly tapping the center of the tattoo, as though afraid it might explode.  
  
Nothing happened.  
  
Spike shook his head and pushed Andrew away. He started to pace, a hand on the back of his neck. “Fucking sorcerers. Why do I always end up half-naked and chained up in Italy? I used to love this country.”  
  
His long strides were not taken with the skimpy loincloth in mind, and it swayed and fell, doing little to cover anything, much less the flexing muscles of Spike’s ass as he turned and walked.  
  
“I don’t know how much time we have before they realize you’re not here to drool on me.” Spike reached for one of the window-curtains and cursed as a spark of electricity stopped him. He turned to Andrew, hands on his slender hips. “See if these windows open. I can’t get close to them.”  
  
Andrew stepped toward the windows, then stopped. “No.”  
  
“Are you listening to me, nerd-boy? We have to get out of here fast.”  
  
“Don’t call me ‘nerd-boy’,” Andrew said, voice quiet and plaintive.  
  
Spike tilted his head, squinting. “Are you having your period?”  
  
“I’m a grown man, now, and a Watcher, and I’m here to rescue you but all you’ve done is order me around and call me names.”  
  
“Okay. Easy. I’m sorry. But I’ve been stuck in this villa for fourteen days with a grabby lizard man and a velvet handkerchief.” He flicked the tiny loincloth. “So I’m a little bit done with being pleasant.”  
  
“I want you to ask nicely.”  
  
Spike rolled his eyes and held his hands out at his sides. “Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”  
  
“Without making fun of me.”  
  
“You do know that bloke’s got scales on his dick, and they go the wrong way?”  
  
“Is it so hard to take me seriously? You’re always belittling me!”  
  
“Always? I haven’t seen you in…” Spike tilted his head back. “So that’s what this is about.”  
  
Andrew’s cheeks burned. He hoped he wasn’t cherry-red. Damn his fair complexion!  
  
“Look, I know the unrequited gig pretty much backwards and…”  
  
“You didn’t have to hurt me. It was our last night on earth. I mean, you  _died_.” Andrew’s voice shook and he feared he was going to cry. He stepped forward and landed a weak punch on Spike’s chest. “You died and you left me feeling like… like the last thing you’d ever think about me was d-disgust.”  
  
Okay, he was crying. He rubbed a fist over his traitorous eyes.  
  
“Hey, easy.” Spike held his shoulders, looked into his face, searching a bit. “I’m sorry I rejected you like that. Just… look, it was bad timing.”  
  
Andrew raised his head, straightened his back. “So kiss me.”  
  
Spike’s shoulders sagged. “Mate, you’re just not my type.”  
  
“I don’t care. If you want to be rescued, you’re going to have to kiss me.”  
  
Spike gave him a “you’re so cute” smile which irked him, because he was a reformed super-villain, damn it! On a path of redemption! And it wasn’t like…  
  
And then Spike was kissing him.  
  
Andrew melted, seeming only to be held up by the two hands on his shoulders and the soft lips against his own. All he thought was,  _I forgive you I forgive you I forgive you._  
  
And then Spike planted a second, smaller kiss on his forehead, and let go of him, leaving him swaying. “Now go open the window.”  
  
Andrew sagged. Spike was looking at him expectantly, and with this smug superiority. He dragged his feet toward the window and started pushing the heavy hanging drapes this way and that, looking for a way through them to the window itself.  
  
He felt like he’d been played.  
  
Andrew stopped rooting through the curtains and turned around. “You don’t respect me.”  
  
“I don’t respect anyone; let’s work on the escaping and get in touch with our feelings on the flight back to LA.”  
  
Andrew took a step toward him. “I don’t have to go back to LA.” He saw the look of dawning comprehension on Spike’s face. But he continued, anyway, for his own benefit. “I don’t have to do anything you say. I can leave here without you tomorrow and tell Giles I’m sorry, but I’ll have to try again next week.”  
  
“Are you honestly doing this? Trying to blackmail me into sleeping with you before you  _try_  to get me out of here?”  
  
“Maybe.” Andrew was warming up to his role. “Maybe I’m just concerned that Gencarelli is watching. Maybe I want to give him a show. Maybe it would be better for both of us if we played along until everyone is asleep.” He was close to Spike now, and Spike was looking at him perplexedly. “Or maybe I just want what I want and you’re in no position to refuse me.”  
  
Spike blinked, and his expression broke into a grin. He laughed, stepping back. “Had me going. You have got the Dr. No bit down pat.”  
  
He saw Andrew’s expression and sobered. He ran a hand over his face. “So your plan is to make out until the bad guys are all sleeping?”  
  
“Would that be so awful?”  
  
Spike was stiff, much like that night back in the basement, when Andrew took his hand and tugged him toward the bed. He didn’t look at Andrew, glaring at a point on the wall when he said, “After this, we’re done with this obsession of yours, understand?”  
  
It wasn’t an obsession, but Andrew nodded.  
Spike sat on the bed, reaching a hand around to the back of Andrew’s head. Spike seemed very… practiced at this. Andrew didn’t know where to put his hands.  
  
He tilted his head like he was considering where to start, opened his lips, and Andrew dove in.  
  
Spike made a surprised, muffled gasp as Andrew crawled into his lap. He reached for Spike’s head and his hands brushed the cold, hard metal of the collar. A heavy weight of pure lust dropped through his stomach. He felt along the hard edge and grasped the curling, sensitive hairs at the base of Spike’s neck, pulling him back as he pressed forward until they tumbled together to the mattress.  
  
Andrew broke to gasp and Spike smirked at him. “Not so virginal anymore, are you?”  
  
“It’s all been practice for this.”  
  
“Don’t be melodramatic, all right? You’ll kill my emerging mood.”  
  
Andrew bit his lower lip, nodded, and let Spike roll them over so he was on top.  
  
Bare skin rolled and pressed over clothed. Andrew moaned as he felt his boxers bunching under his trousers. He gave up on trying to grab Spike and concentrated on removing his own clothes, wriggling under Spike’s skilled ministrations.  
  
Soon they were both naked. (Spike’s joke of an outfit hadn’t really been an encumbrance, but the vampire took visible pleasure in ripping it off.) Spike nipped and sucked at Andrew’s pulse point, then down his chest to his stomach. Andrew quivered and jerked at the intense sensations, just on the border between ticklish and painful, and heightened by the awareness that this was a predator who could kill him as easily as he left hickies down Andrew’s chest.  
  
Andrew pressed up against muscle and cool, smooth skin, and thought he might combust any second.  
  
Spike pulled back, and his sigh was a cool breeze on the sucked and licked flesh below. “Fuck. This was easier without the soul. Faking it.”  
  
Andrew felt like he’d fallen from a great height. He opened his eyes to see Spike propped over him, looking world-weary and unsure.  
  
“Don’t,” Andrew said. He propped himself on his elbows. “Don’t fake it.”  
  
“Andrew, you don’t want me to not fake it. Trust me.” Spike shook his head as though shaking off a notion and bent back to nuzzling Andrew’s side.  
  
Andre pushed him back and turned onto his side. “No,” he said, “don’t.”  
  
Spike let himself be rolled onto his back. “Look, let’s be honest. I’m not really into this, all right? It’s not that you’re a bad bloke.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“You don’t know.”  
  
“Yeah, I do. I’m not a kid. I want you to want me back, but if you don’t, I don’t want to pretend. I just want what I can get.”  
  
Spike frowned at him, but let Andrew reverse their positions.  
  
The rest of the night was silent. Spike didn’t seem to know what to say and Andrew was afraid if he spoke he’d ruin everything, or lose his nerve.  
  
He awoke to find himself alone… but not quite. Spike was curled up on the far side of the bed. Andrew tried not to feel rejected by the space between them. Quietly, he slipped out of bed, dressed, and then slipped out of the room.  
  
Gencarelli was standing there, in the hall, waiting for him. He smiled indulgently. “It’s not fair, is it? They can reject us whenever they like. But here, there is some justice.”  
  
Andrew didn’t feel very just, but no one, other than the demon, knew that. He nodded.  
  
One more week, that’s all. He’d try to get him out next week. Maybe.


End file.
